Category Archives: General

Perhaps the only person living, dead, or resurrected who might come close to understanding my Easter time trauma is the Sweet Lord Jesus Himself. The rest of you simply take great pleasure and joy in revisiting the terrifying Easter Bunny photo shoot of me just about wetting my pants in fear of that woefully-underestimated sadist. I’ll include that favored photo below, but we open with a bit of comeuppance – a karmic twist that finds the bunny sitting on my lap now, and I’ve got no time for tulle. 

This reckoning has been a long time coming. Largely worked-out with this unexpected run-in with the furry guy himself in Boston over ten years ago, I did a few more exercises in exorcism in the ensuing decade. There was the time the twins acted as my bunny-buffer during a visit at Faddegon’s. This pair of Burberry briefs and a string of pearls went another step toward turning the bunny narrative on its cottontail. 

The most startling battle with the bunny of my mind began with this trip down the rabbit hole. It was during that Delusional Grandeur Tour when the remaining animal demons in my head wreaked their final havoc. Today, the same bunny from that shoot gets a softer go-round on my lap. After all, it’s Easter. 

Happy Easter to one and all – especially that mischievous bunny in each of us. 

Only when the power goes out does one truly hear and feel the difference modern technology has imprinted upon our senses. First and foremost, obviously, there is the question of light. Without electricity we are at the mercy of natural daylight, and when that goes, wow does it go. In the absence of the moon in the sky, the darkness is deep and impenetrable. Second, and perhaps more powerfully in this day and age of non-stop sensory overload, is the absence of noise. All television and music is instantly silenced – the difference of that alone is startling. More shocking is the absence of all the background fuzz and static – the running of the refrigerator or dishwasher or heating system – things that normally fade into the periphery, suddenly given new prominence in their noticeable absence. Even the barely-there humming of a problematic light or the never-before-noticed whirring of a humidifier make their disappearance felt. It is a profound and reverent silence, and one which I appreciated despite the annoyance of the recent power outage. 

Almost every room or space in which we find ourselves is rarely without all sources of sound. The absence of power illuminates a meditative opportunity, as the only noise eventually becomes your own breathing, or the creaking and crackling of your body, the brush of clothing or the footfalls as you walk from one silent room into another. It was a moment that begged for mindfulness, that practically demanded one stop and take notice of our suspended state. For that, I was grateful, and almost wished we could have half an hour every day of being without the usual distractions and noise. 

I’m strange that way. Most people get immediately and unbearably bothered by such silence and stillness. We are so accustomed to the noise and the stimulation. Embracing this quiet, I seek it out now that it has receded. In the reflection of a window during the recent storm, a group of candle flames looks as if it is emanating from the pine bough. You only hear the sound of a burning candle when it’s extra quiet, and it’s enchanting. 

It’s ok if the garlic dies.

It might be hardy enough.

I have to let the lilacs go.

If they grow back, great, if they don’t…

You know what’s going to survive?

Me.

You.

And the holly.

That’s going to live.

Those roots are intense. 

Like other intriguing double-sworded events, an ice storm can be as beautiful as it is dangerous (and fucking annoying). I captured these photos at about the same time that our interior house temperature fell to what was outside (just kidding, it only felt that way). As the power is not yet on as of the time of this writing, if you don’t hear from me I’m either unable to post or I’ve expired from the cold. Fingers-crossed. 

This post is brought to you by the WiFi and electricity of Suzie and Pat, in whose home I currently write this recap, which will go live as we begin day three without electricity. The less said about that the better, so on with the weekly recap…

Whipping the cream.

The first day of spring arrived – oh the irony!

A spring song for your listening pleasure. 

Reviving a Broadway tradition with mother. 

A blue bird for spring.

‘Da fuck outta here.

Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ album turns 35.

How patchouli takes me back in time.

The BOLD and SEXY style of Luke Evans.

Some other spring.

The backless gown reveals the ass.

When a peek at Justin Timberlake’s abs still isn’t enough.

This week kicked my ass, and I felt it.

A meditation upon ice in spring.

Unwieldy lettuce has been the bane of the salad.

Dazzlers of the Day included Lena Waithe, Noah Williams, Gaby Vincent and Basil Seggos.

Does the week begin on Sunday or Monday? It’s always infuriatingly debatable, and our world has had enough of debates and both sides and binary bullshit. I’m taking this Saturday night as the end of the week, because it was a week that kicked my ass and it needs to be over. We were scheduled to be in New Jersey for my late Uncle’s celebration of life service, but storms and bad weather caused Mom to wisely cancel the trip. It’s a shame we can’t see and be with family, especially all that’s happened in the past year, but we will make it up later in the season when there is no more threat of snow and ice. Those days are coming, I have faith. 

As for these last few days, they have been… days. Maybe the expectations that spring always brings proved to be too great. Maybe the state of the world and how toxic it feels that everything has gotten are finally getting to me. Maybe I’m just feeling beat-down by a week of therapy, doctor’s appointments, prescription pick-ups, and the meat-free Fridays of Lent I’ve been guilted into practicing. (Thank you to Catholicism and my former life as an altar boy!) 

Rather than fight the malaise or change the narrative by some false buoying of spirits, I’ve been facing the sadness and downtrodden days. It hasn’t even been close to a year since Dad died, and this winter, while relatively benevolent, seems to be sticking around (judging by the snow and ice that’s suddenly back). In my daily meditations, I’ve been refocusing on what I’ve felt during the day, acknowledging those moments of doubt and worry, allowing the space to be a little less of what I’d like to be, and going a little easier on myself when my picky, persnickety perfectionist tendencies drag me down. 

At both my doctor’s appointment and therapy sessions, when mention of my Dad arose, I said I was doing ok, and as soon as I said it I knew the next day or two would bring moments where I suddenly wasn’t ok, because that’s what seems to be happening. And then I hear from friends who understand, who have been through it, and who say that’s the way it usually goes. There isn’t a finite end date for grief, and for someone whose Virgo-nature likes a schedule and a plan, that’s difficult to accept. My head knows this, and understands this, and works to embrace this; my heart is in a messier state, and I’m learning to accept the mess. 

Coated in ice, our Japanese umbrella pine and a stand of hydrangeas bow beneath the weight. It is the weight of a storm, and the weight of a bad week. And in all things that weep, there is beauty here. 

When all else fails on a new album promotion plan, it’s often wise to go shameless, and shirtless. Justin Timberlake has employed such a shirtless move in the past, and it’s worked. Now that his new album isn’t quite the blockbuster success previous efforts have been, we get just a hint of former naked glory in the featured shot here. Isn’t it as revealing or provocative as previous poses and pics? Not even close. But maybe a tease is better than a blatant delivery? Meh… not in these parts. 

When they make you put on something this atrocious with your ass just hanging out, how does one’s blood pressure do anything BUT go up? Ridiculous. Anyway, I have reached the age of scheduled colonoscopies and shit (hopefully not in close proximity to each other) and here I am modeling the latest in Physician Examining Room apparel (put that on your roster of ballroom looks). If anybody knows anyone who can get me in for the ass-probing in the near future around the Albany area, please DM me. It’s all but impossible to get anyone to look at my ass these days, and scheduling a colonoscopy is proving just as difficult. Oh what a changed world…

Thirty-five years ago, the bedrooms of many burgeoning gay boys were filled with the incense-like fragrance of patchouli, the hold-over hippie scent from the 60’s, thanks to Madonna including it as part of the packaging for the ‘Like A Prayer’ album. For perhaps the first time, a musical artist was pushing the notion of the artistic listening experience into one that went beyond sound and sight and included an actual scent. It was a powerful moment for me – not only being my first brush with patchouli (contrary to popular belief, I was not alive in the 60’s) but also my first experience with how an artistic project could be so powerfully immersive for the consumer and viewer. It was also a lesson in how scent can be one of the most power memory triggers, bringing us back to a time and place more effectively than any other sensory stimulus.

Since that time, patchouli has held a special place in my heart, though these days it’s in a more refined form, such as this delicious fragrance from the House of Guerlain Paris – ‘Patchouli Ardent’. Here, the patchouli runs through the fragrance arc, its golden threads shimmering at each stage of development, while a magnificently rich rose note works a velvety floral into the mix. At the start, some pink and black pepper brings a spicy accent to an almost-fruity and figgy voluptuousness, while a woody smokiness lends echoes of Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Fleur’ and Frederic Malle’s ‘Portrait of a Lady’ (both of which I adore). Meanwhile, layers of leather reveal themselves as it settles down, taking it blessedly further from the edge of sticky sweetness (the danger zone of many a rose and patchouli duet). 

Taken together, this is a powerful perfume, perfect for these blustery days that feel more like winter than spring, when you need a little richness in the arid and barren landscape. The patchouli is prettily present throughout the story, bringing its years of memories into my mind, taking me back decades to a world that feels enchanted, as much by the rose-tinted-glass frame of time as by the sweet innocence I held onto as a thirteen-year-old boy. 

Still enraptured by the new twist that Madonna gave to this iconic corset, I’m posting another pic of the ensemble from her Oscar party. That’s about all I have the energy or desire to do right now, so take a look back at the week that came before in this typical Monday morning recap.

As mentioned, Madonna reworked her magical reinvention powers here. 

A visitor adorned in red.

Duck, duck, no goose.

The Madonna Timeline was back with ‘Joan of Arc’ from the glorious ‘Rebel Heart’ era.

Maluma took some of it off for Playgirl.

Better looks at that Madonna reinvention.

Carnations and stock make for a beautiful pair.

Green and lavender love in a cup.

A crock of a crocus post.

My fake-smiling skills have been honed to steely perfection. That still doesn’t make it right.

A shirtless Lenny Kravitz, John Cena, Zac Efron and more!

Career goals have been supplanted by retirement goals, which is the way life should be.

Dazzlers of the Day included the luminous likes of Eric Andre, Mickey Boardman, Ian Paget, Bobby Ilagan, Gina Yashere, and Nicholas Capolino.

This is a post in which I have absolutely nothing and everything to say, and I expect it to be largely a mess, the way the end of winter is so often messy. It will also be blessedly brief, for both our sakes. My allergies have come early, mold and mites and a bunch of things that were never quite properly killed off with a righteous blast of the freezing spells that once characterized our winters are in full effect, undimmed by this relatively warm season. Unburied by snow and ice, such tiny monsters are wreaking their havoc, leaving me with the infuriating feeling of being constantly on the edge of a cold, with sinuses that sting and a nose that runs at only the most inconvenient of times. And exhaustion, regular and debilitating exhaustion that is entirely unwelcome when there is so much to be done. 

This little crocus is the first sign of floral life, but I’m not counting on it to bloom. Chipmunks usually eat its head off before it can give us a proper show, and I find life is better spent not expecting anything great, and then being happily surprised if such good events are destined to happen. All we have is the here and now. 

The back patio is a shambles. Our canopy has been disassembled, and we need to rent a dumpster to get rid of two broken-down canopies. I need to paint a bathroom somehow. And the yearly yard clean-up, always one of the most onerous and back-breaking tasks, looms immediately on the horizon provided there is no rain. My spirit is dampened and I’m seeking (and failing to find) the ambition and drive to make much of this happen beyond a few half-hearted minor motions per day. (On the evening of this writing, I moved some turtlenecks from the guest room closet to the attic. That would be it.)

So let this crocus inspire you, and me, and the whole coming onslaught of spring. Godspeed to us all.

Hey, at least we’re not in the royal family. Silver lining. 

In our antiquated and stubborn time system, we lost our annual hour this past weekend, and the less said about it the better. I’m also at a loss for words because I’m wiped out. Not a good state in which to find yourself at the start of the work-week, but here we are. On with the weekly recap…

Wayfair went the way of Pier 1 in my life, and it’s for the best. 

Looking up in Albany.

Flowers make all the difference in all the ways. 

Proof of the former is in this ravishing ranunculus post. 

The most beautiful glass isn’t entirely clear.

A Boston tease, please.

Grease me up.

An end-of-winter Boston adventure with Kira provided a brief respite that won’t be seen again until summer.

A flowerful post.

Darn these socks.

Preparing for guesting.

Jaxon & Uncle Andy.

A naked John Cena at the Oscars.

Dazzlers of the Day included Caitlin Clark, Colin Grafton, Joe Phillips, Sarah Millican, and Jonathon Nason. 

The long but not terribly unkind knot of winter slowly unravels, and plans for future guests slowly take shape for the warmer seasons. Preparing for guests is one of life’s happier experiences, and I’ve leaned into and loved it ever since I was a kid and we would eagerly begin getting ready for the all-too-rarely occasional visit from family or family friends. 

This year, it begins slowly, as I start to take apart the canopy that saw its last bit of shade giving-life depart thanks to a squirrel’s sharp claws, which made razor-quick shreds of the worn canvass. It’s another neglected bit of wreckage left from last summer, when I couldn’t even bring myself to take down the candy for the winter season. Maybe part of me knew it was time for a new set-up. 

As the temperatures crawled closer toward fifty degrees, I stepped outside in the late afternoon and began unscrewing the rusty bolts, freeing the posts from their wooden base, and piling up all the dirty pieces in the side yard. Later we will rent a dumpster and get rid of two canopy sets that now sit cluttering up the side of the house. All in the name of creating a beautiful space. 

The Guest House

by Jalaluddin Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

In our main bathroom, a new vanity mirror cabinet finally hangs on the wall above the sink. The lighting demands a different paint job, another task that feels onerous, overwhelming, and impossible. Eyeing the walls wearily, I make a mental list of what will be needed – tape, paint, paint brush – because no matter how many times I paint a room, I never save the brushes. The idea of preparation may be its own source of inspiration. The feeling is familiar, the feeling is fine. 

This marks Day Five without a fully-functioning bathroom thanks to Wayfair’s dismal installation service, so I want to again strongly dissuade anyone from ordering from Wayfair, and most importantly I adamantly advise against ever utilizing their installation service, in this case Angi. 

We ordered a mirror/light/medicine cabinet for our bathroom, which arrived fully assembled at 4 feet wide, 32 inches tall, and 115 pounds. It looks like a great item, and I also paid for the installation service. We took out the original light and cabinet on Wednesday night, for the scheduled installation on Thursday morning at 7:30 AM. After no one showed, we got a text at 8:30 from the Angi “Pro” saying they weren’t coming. I rescheduled for Saturday morning, and tried to impress upon Angi and Wayfair that this would require at least two people to install. They argued that I would have to order a second ‘pro’ to come and pay for that out of pocket. They also said it might be good to wait until Saturday to see if one person could do it. 

On Saturday, the second ‘pro’ arrived and indicated there was no way one person could do that job (DUH), and that this was far from the first time that Wayfair ordered for one person to do a multiple-person job by Angi. So here we are, medicine bathroom cabinet and light resting on our bathroom floor, and Andy and I unable to see anything or lift it up ourselves since he just had hernia surgery. 

Once again, don’t buy anything from Wayfair (this was my second or third purchase from them, and now last), and definitely do not waste your money on their installation service. 

(Update: see the original post at the first link above for how they are rectifying this.)